Of Love and LeyLines
by hint-of-mayhem
Summary: For years he has been teasing Harry about his scar but when Draco witnesses his worst vision so far, things change. He is faced with a choice. To help or hinder? The side of Light or the side of Dark? What will he choose and what will the consequences be?
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes—This is my first attempt at a novel length fic and so all feedback would be greatly appreciated and rewarded with undying love and homemade muffins This fic is rated R for later chapters (yes, there will be slash—eventually!)

Beta'd by the amazing Naka (live journal user **fcmwtrdo**) and FictionAlley's grammar Queen, Alexa Black. Thanks so much girls!

Students almost tripped over themselves in an attempt to clear a path for the Spoiled Princeling, better known as Draco Malfoy. His silver eyes were stormy and the glare on his face was screaming for an excuse to hex someone into oblivion. No one was stupid enough to get in the way of this sixth year, not even the older students; there was no doubt in their minds as to who had managed to reduce Malfoy's usual façade of serenity to a volcano of rage and hatred.

"Fucking Potter and his fucking perfect life," muttered Malfoy under his breath as he rushed forward, knocking over a tiny first year Hufflepuff girl on the way without even stopping to apologise.

Draco had just received a particularly critical letter from his mother — no doubt on his father's orders — about the recent Quidditch match in which Gryffindor slaughtered Slytherin, thanks to Potter's audacity to out-manoeuvre Malfoy at every opportunity. Well, Draco was not going to put up with it anymore. That half-blood, scar-headed, Witch Weekly pin-up boy had no right to make a blatant fool out of someone who was by far his superior. Fortunately, both boys had a free lesson on Fridays after breakfast and Draco was going to make full use of it to teach Potter a lesson of his own, one that he would never forget. However, when he entered the otherwise deserted classroom that his sources of information had traced Potter to, he, not Harry, was the one in for a surprise, and not a nice one at that.

Harry was lying where he had collapsed on the floor, writhing in pain, his limbs entangled in his school robes. His deathly-white face was beaded with sweat and tears fell silently from his blank eyes. His scar was bleeding freely and he didn't seem to have any awareness of his surroundings, or even of Draco — who was so used to attention that he was a little put out.

The Slytherin knew that his father would expect him to turn and walk away at worst and, at best, cast a few curses whilst Potter was defenceless. Draco stood a moment, internally debating what to do, when suddenly Harry let out a particularly loud cry. Inwardly cursing Potter for putting him into this position, Draco swooped down on Harry, instinctively pulling his upper body into his arms as he whispered a long string of charms for waking, healing and easing pain. If his father knew that he was using his years of Dark Magic training to save the Boy Who Lived, Draco had no doubt that Lucius would kill him, resurrect him and kill him again for good measure. And yet, something about the vulnerability in Harry's usually life-filled emerald eyes had entranced him.

After what seemed like an eternity, Harry suddenly seemed to convulse back into a state of consciousness. He fought against Draco's protective hold of his chest only to fall back into his arms and cry softly, his head leaning back against his shoulder. Malfoy was shocked by the raven-haired boy's actions but completely disgusted that he, the cold-hearted Slytherin, didn't actually seem to care. It was as if his body had been taken over by some motherly spirit, insistent on rocking Harry backward and forward rhythmically until his crying subsided.

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Hermione had been worried about Harry ever since they had returned to Hogwarts for the new school year. The boy that Hermione loved as a brother always looked tired, despite Ron's assurances that he slept as heavily as ever. He hardly ate and his eyes never seemed to match his smiling face. Hermione had put it down to grief over Sirius and even now she felt this was partly true. Harry's face became a queasy pale whenever someone mentioned the name of his godfather and his eyes sparkled with unshed tears. But Harry had made no attempt to hide this grief from Ron and her. There was something else, something still unspoken, troubling Harry daily and it hurt her to know he was suffering without confiding in her or Ron. So when he didn't turn up for their arranged study session in the library, she began to worry.

She rushed up to Gryffindor Tower and without explanation, ignoring the wolf whistles of Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, dragged Ron bodily off his comfy chair by the fire grate and up the stairs to the boys' dormitory.

"Err 'Mione…Any particular reason why you're dragging me to my bedroom," Ron asked in a would-be calm voice, with a blush so strong it reached his ears.

"Harry's not turned up at the library, Ron! I'm worried about him and you have to help me find him!"

"As much as I can't blame the guy for avoiding one of your study sessions, I fail to see why dragging me up here will help. He isn't in bed."

"I never said he was," groaned Hermione in a tone that suggested that Ron had missed something she considered to be obvious, "but you know where the Marauder's Map is, right?"

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After a good amount of searching, Ron and Hermione left Gryffindor Tower together amidst a good deal more wolf whistling which resulted in a rushed Bat Bogey hex for Seamus, thanks to a very concerned Hermione Granger. She and Ron hurried on the quickest route towards the deserted classroom where the map had labelled two dots in such close vicinity that they all but merged on the paper. These dots went by the names of Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter.

By now, Hermione and Ron were concerned for their friend's welfare, but for entirely different reasons. As she ran, Hermione's brain ticked over the long lists of curses that Malfoy and Harry could be shooting at each other at that very second. Whereas Ron, his blush still present as Hermione pulled him along the corridor by his hand, was more concerned about what other things Draco and Harry could be up to that required them to be so close.

Harry had finally, after years of agonising denial, admitted to himself and his two best friends that he was gay. And although Ron had neither any knowledge nor interest regarding Malfoy's sexuality, he wouldn't put it past the slimy little git to _Imperio_ Harry into kissing him or something much worse, simply to say that he had had his way with the famous Harry Potter.

Neither Ron nor Hermione were prepared to see the concerned expression haunting the blond's face as he protectively held and tried to soothe the still crying Harry Potter. Harry's scar had stopped bleeding but both boys were stained from its earlier pouring, and it was hard to tell who was holding whom for comfort.

Upon seeing Ron and Hermione standing at the doorway in shock, Malfoy's grip on Harry tightened slightly and his comforting muttering ceased. He made a feeble attempt to get his voice back to its usual cold and uncaring tone as he began to speak; his mind was in overdrive as he tried to think of an explanation for something that he, himself didn't have an answer to.

"Well it's about fucking time! Look Potter, your cavalry has arrived to save me the bother of sitting with you a moment longer. In the space of the last half hour or so, I think I reached my quota of good deeds for my freaking lifetime."

As Harry stiffened at his harsh tone, Draco felt compelled to hush him quietly and whispered softly in his ears so that only Harry could hear him.

"Don't take things so personally, Potter, you'll give yourself another episode or whatever this was. This is just how I deal with things I don't understand, okay?"

Harry instantly relaxed and nodded slightly and Hermione, recovering from her brief occupation of impersonating a goldfish out of water, rushed over.

"Mordred Harry! What happened? What did you see? It was another vision, wasn't it? Should I go and get Dumbledore? Or do you need Madam Pomfrey? Does your head hurt? Well Merlin, sorry Harry, of course it does! That was a stupid question…"

"Granger, shut the fuck up and let him…."

"Don't speak to her like that, Malfoy! And don't look at me like that either!" Ron interrupted as Malfoy gave him the best death glare he could summon.

"Look, s'ok Ron," Harry murmured with some difficulty before being shushed again by Malfoy.

"Now what the hell do you mean a 'vision,' Granger? Gods I know you are a Mudblood but you have enough brains to realise that Potter has as much skill with Divination as a…as a….teaspoon does."

"That as it may be, Mister Malfoy," came the calm and authoritative voice of Albus Dumbledore who, with his keen sense for problems, had arrived in the classroom, "but Harry's visions are not the result of prophecy. They are the result of his link with Voldemort."

It was now Draco's turn to impersonate a goldfish as he listened to Dumbledore's brief explanation while the old wizard checked Harry over with a handful of diagnosis spells. Straightening up, the Headmaster surveyed Draco with an aura of disbelief and interest before saying, in a tone of polite amusement, "I do believe you have been fortunate, Harry my boy. Had it not been for young Master Malfoy's impressive charm work, I doubt very much that you would be alive right now."

The motherly, protective feeling Draco had been fighting with since he found Harry in such a state was instantly squashed as the realisation hit him. He, Draco Lucius Antoine Malfoy, had just saved the enemy of his supposed Lord and Master. He had just saved his arch-nemesis. He had saved the Boy Who Lived… He was so going to get a howler…if he was lucky.

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Two days had passed since Draco had sealed his own fate by saving the life of the Boy Who Lived, and the blond felt as though his world had been turned upside down. After Dumbledore's brief explanation to Draco, he had whisked Harry away to the infirmary, with Ron and Hermione tripping over themselves to keep up, leaving Draco alone. Alone without the comfortable weight that he had been clutching against his chest. Alone, covered in the blood and tears of the boy whose life he had just saved. Alone with the growing fear of the vengeance his father would take upon him should he find out. Alone.

He had been on the side of good for just over a year now, ever since he had been thrust into the company of his 'Lord' and forced to beg for his approval like some kind of slave. Watching his father suck up to this abomination had been sickening enough; but when he accompanied the Death Eaters on a riot in a small Muggle village, saw what they did to the women and girls whilst making the men watch, saw how they killed tiny babies without a second thought, Draco realised he wanted nothing to do with this life. He may think himself better than Muggles, but he would never wish that on anyone, and his prejudice against Mudbloods was mainly thanks to Granger besting him on every single one of their exams.

And so he had used every ounce of his charm to evade getting the mark while keeping up the pretence of being loyal. It hadn't been easy but it had been going well, until now. If Potter's condition was due to his link with Draco's 'Lord', then what were the chances of him not knowing that Harry had been saved? It wouldn't take his father long to work out Draco's role in this; he was the only one of the Death Eater's children at Hogwarts who had any aptitude in the healing aspects of the Dark Arts. Blaise Zabini was the only other student who had received training and his spellwork was just as abysmal as his performance in school.

He needed to talk to Potter to find out about this link and what consequences it could have for Draco. But how could someone walk into the infirmary to visit their arch nemesis without invoking suspicion?

His head was throbbing as he tried to work his way out of the situation he had got himself into. Struggling to deal with the stirred emotions and confusion that had imploded their way into the front of Draco's mind, he resorted to his tried and tested method of dealing with things: blame Potter.

"Damn that bastard! Damn him to the depths of hell and back again. Why did he have to look so needy and pathetic when he was suffering from his stupid 'gift' as, in a way typical of the old interfering git, Dumbledore had deemed it? Why did he have to look so damn fuckable the rest of the time? Doesn't he know that I am trying to be straight, damn it! He could at least wear something resembling the Muggle rags I've seen him arrive to Platform 9 ¾ in at the start of the school year. But no, Mr. Harry James 'I am determined to ruin Draco's life' Potter decided to get finely tailored and tight-fitting robes and collapse where he just _knew_ I would find him, making sure to look as vulnerable as possible."

Draco knew it was all to spite him, and if Harry wasn't still hiding up in the infirmary — obviously to make him worry about him — Draco swore he would be aiming a few less-than-friendly spells in the vicinity of Harry's admitably nice ass.

He managed to continue blaming Harry for a grand total of five minutes. Sinking down into his favourite chair in the Slytherin common room, sending death glares at anyone within a ten metre radius, Draco lost himself in thought for what seemed like the millionth time since Friday. Sometime later when the resounding crash of Goyle tripping through the entrance hole for the fifteenth time this week shook him from his contemplation, he had finally worked out some of his tangled emotions.

Despite all his concerns for his own safety, Draco was also scared for Harry and the Wizarding world as a whole. What horrors had Harry seen? He felt an odd link with Harry, knowing that he had been through some of the same experiences as him, even if it wasn't first-hand. He wanted to know what the Death Eaters were doing, what they were planning. But most of all, Draco wanted to know how many died this time.

---Vision---

Pain; sharp, searing pain burst through Harry's head without any notice. He felt light-headed and his limbs were stiff and heavier than his own. Every sensation crawling to his brain felt surreal, as though his whole soul had been displaced. A slow sense of familiarity grew in Harry's mind as he became accustomed to the situation. This familiarity was teamed with a sudden realisation: he was in Voldemort's mind, in Voldemort's body, seeing through Voldemort's eyes, a slave to Voldemort's will.

He was standing in the remains of a Muggle school hall. Corpses of teachers and children littered the ground. Some had been raped, some had been tortured and all had been killed. Harry surveyed the Death Eaters kneeling before him with a cold glare and spoke to them in a penetrating hiss.

'Well asss entertaining asss I am sssure thisss wass for you…did any of you actually manage to locate the area? No…? Luciusss!"

One of the masked faces bowed swiftly towards Harry.

"You sssaid you could handle thisss sssituation….but what do I find? You have been too busssy raping and torturing to notice that an entire classs of Mugglesss essscaped your ssearching"

Harry felt a slight tingle, like air becoming charged, as Voldemort wandlessly parted the heavy curtains of the stage at the far end of the room. A class of small children, younger than any of the corpses that littered the floor, were huddled together, crying silently and trembling with fear.

"Younger sssoulss. Purer sssoulss. If you had been more foccusssed on the task and ussed thesse too, then maybe the ritual would not have failed. You will learn from this misstake Luciusss. I will ssstrike you hard, where you least except it and yet you will thank me. You will thank me for allowing you to live becaussse otherwissse I will continue to teach you until you learn from your misstakess."

Then with a final, icy gaze at Lucius, Harry felt Voldemort's body spin round to face the stage. Horror filled Harry's mind as he felt a hand rise. He let out a silent scream as he felt the magic leave his core in a rush of hate and fury. He cried inside as he saw the small children convulse in agony. He longed for their pain to be his instead, he longed to spare them. But he was just a spectator, like a reader unable to change the plot of a book. He tried to close his eyes, but he was compelled to watch. He felt their deaths, one by one, in rapid succession. Then everything went black. An empty nothingness consumed him. He felt so close to death, the veil of between the worlds was so thin after the massacre that he could slip through so easily.

But something was holding him back. Words drifted around him, magic gripped his soul and held it in a caress almost as tight and comforting as the arms he felt on his body. The grip on his soul faded but the hands held him firm. Life flooded back into him and he breathed again. He saw again. And he saw Draco Malfoy.

---End Vision---

Harry felt like a herd of rampaging hippogriffs had been let loose in his brain. His scar couldn't seem to make its mind up between a throbbing ache and an irritating tingle, so it settled for both, bleeding at regular intervals. He was still reeling from what he had seen, but what shocked him the most was the knowledge that Draco Malfoy had saved him.

As much as he would have liked to ponder that fact and come up with reasons why the son of a convicted Death Eater, not to mention his rival of six years, would want to save him, Dumbledore had other ideas. Despite relaying details of his vision to the Headmaster several times now, the old man seemed to be obsessing over the most peculiar of details: the way that Harry described how he could feel the magic as it was cast. Harry wanted to stop Voldemort; he was interested in what 'ritual' had required so many souls and what needed to be 'located'. But most of all, he just wanted to forget what he had seen and ask Draco why he had saved him.

Dumbledore watched Harry closely as he questioned the boy again. He saw the pain in Harry's eyes, the guilt, the need to not think about what he had witnessed. He hated putting the boy through so much turmoil but the answers to this puzzle were still eluding him.

However when he mentioned asking Draco Malfoy to visit Harry and explain what he had seen when he had found Harry unconscious, he saw some flicker of emotion cross the boy's face so quickly the Headmaster thought he imagined it. He finally understood why Harry seemed to be less interested in the vision than he would expect. He could barely suppress a grin as he excused himself and swept out of the room in search of a certain Slytherin.

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The Slytherin common room fell into a stony silence as Dumbledore entered the room. They hustled around, hiding this and that from the Headmaster's gaze in an almost paranoid manner. The old man chuckled to himself at this typical Slytherin behaviour, causing the congregated house-mates to look even more shifty and unsure. With a twinkle in his eye and a disconcerting smile, Dumbledore surveyed the group with a disconcerting smile before walking towards a chair near the fire grate whose occupant seemed both too lost in thought to notice the Headmaster's presence and too troubled by his thoughts to care.

"Draco." Dumbledore spoke softly and yet the boy flinched as though he had forgotten he was not alone, but in a room full of other people.

"Professor Dumbledore," Draco acknowledged, recovering his composure and moulding his face into a façade of polite interest. "May I help you, sir?"

The old man merely gave an enigmatic nod at this response, chuckled some more and gestured for the Slytherin to follow him.

The Headmaster led the young blond on a winding route through the dungeons before emerging behind a tapestry near to his office. Neither had spoken; both were slightly uncomfortable with the other's company and seemed unsure of how to respond to this.

Dumbledore's expression was of slight amusement as he pondered the fact that, despite his age and experience of communicating with teenagers, there was something almost untouchable about Draco Malfoy. Something seemed to rule his every action and, in the eyes of one who prided himself in knowing as much about each of his students as was possible without breaking their privacy, he found it impossible to break down the shields that Draco appeared to build around himself. The old man had not heard of him having a true friend, a girlfriend or even anything more than a gaggle of Slytherins bent to his will. All he had as a constant was his rivalry with Harry Potter and now that he had begun to doubt that, Draco needed something more substantial. So, in a move more underhanded and Slytherin-esque than the loyal-at-heart Gryffindor Headmaster would care to admit, he set up the pieces and hoped the game would play out the way he planned.

It was Draco's turn to snicker slightly as Dumbledore stopped in front of an impressive gargoyle statue and, with an exaggerated flourish of his arms, said "Liquorice Allsorts!" The old man turned in response to Draco's muffled laughter and merely raised an eyebrow before offering the shocked blond one of the offending sweets.

"Never doubt Muggle confectionary, my boy," the Headmaster declared in such a serious tone that Draco stopped laughing and studied the old man as though he doubted his sanity. He proceeded to follow Dumbledore as he walked up the stairs towards the office.

Dumbledore crossed the room swiftly, sat behind his desk and gestured for Draco to take the seat opposite him. The boy did so, but not before looking interestedly around at the room. Dumbledore noticed that his eyes lingered in distaste on the cabinet holding Godric Gryffindor's sword, curiosity on the phoenix perched in the corner, and almost nostalgically on the Sorting Hat resting on a shelf amongst countless books.

Dumbledore felt comforted by the knowledge that Draco obviously wasn't emotionless — as he had feared most — but rather hid his emotions…something he had also feared, but felt was more easily cured. If anything, he became more resolute in his decision to take action. Looking down at Draco through his half moon glasses with a steady gaze, he began to speak.

"For once, my boy, I am not going to beat around the bush, so please forgive me for being frank. I have asked you to join me here because of your actions on Friday that saved the life of one of your classmates." Dumbledore paused, his eyes sparkling as he saw the conflict on Draco's face at hearing Harry Potter being described as his classmate, before continuing in an even tone.

"Obviously we are nothing but grateful for your actions, but the nature of the spells that you used to save Mr. Potter clearly shows that you have an extensive knowledge of the Dark Arts. Now don't get me wrong, I am not here to chastise you for using these spells to save Harry's life. On the contrary, I have brought you here to ask for your help."

At this statement, Draco's eyes widened slightly and he once again regarded the old man as though he thought him senile, but Dumbledore continued unperturbed.

"Have you ever heard the old tales about Percuro Adfinis Rerum Natura or the Elemental Healers? Well, they are legendary duos of witches or wizards, each member of the duo with certain skills or powers. They work together as a unit to heal in times of war. For example, one member acts as a sensor, feeling the pain and injuries of others — and the traces of magic cast on the victim — and directs the other member, the healer, to cure these injuries efficiently. There hasn't been one of these duos for around three centuries due to the fact that, like Metamorphagi, these sensors must be born with their powers and they only blossom when they come into close spiritual contact with someone who has the skills to become their healer. When you healed Harry, your souls were spiritually close and I think you awoke the powers of a sensor within him. Can you see where this is heading?"

Draco nodded mutely, trying to comprehend the sheer unbelievable nature of what Dumbledore had just implied. As a pureblood, schooled from an early age by a tradition-obsessed father in the myths and legends of the magical world, Draco had heard of the stories about Percuro Adfinis Rerum Natura, or 'to thoroughly heal by the nature of the world' as it was traditionally translated to before it was simplified. These people were great warriors, fighters in all the famous magical wars. They duelled with the added duty of healing casualties. The sensitivity of the 'sensor' meant that they had the ability to sense the very elemental magic that drove the earth; the close link they were trained to share with the healer resulted in two fighters with lighting-quick reflexes, usually highly skilled in wandless and non-verbal magic, who could save people even an inch from death. These men and women went down in history for their skills and their deeds, and here was Dumbledore suggesting that Draco, along with another fifteen-year-old boy, had the potential to be part of this.

_The old git really has lost it,_ Draco thought. _He has finally gone completely off the edge of the map, lost what was left of his already depleted marble collection… gone round the bend, stark raving fucking insane!_

Obviously unable to politely vocalise his thoughts, Draco sat in a shocked silence. Dumbledore began to speak again, but he was barely listening. He managed to get the basic drift of the Headmaster's words.

_He expects me to do this, to openly fight on the side of light when the war really starts. He expects me to openly betray my family and their Lord…and he expects me to do so with Potter at my side! _

If Draco had felt himself in an emotionally mixed up dilemma before this point, he was slowly beginning to realise what the true definition of that feeling was like. Every fibre of his being was reeling with shock, fear, confusion, and the ever growing need to talk to Harry Potter. Eventually unable to pretend to be focused any longer, he asked if Harry had been informed of the situation and whether he could talk to him about it. Inside, he was hoping that Harry could prove the Headmaster's theory to be the complete bullshit that the logical part of Draco's brain already knew it to be. He just needed the reassurance that he was right. No matter how surreal it felt, the part of Draco already resigned to this new fate was arguing 'Since when has _anything _concerning Potter been logical?' and Draco was determined to prove this part of him wrong.

He wasn't expecting the Headmaster to respond by saying that Harry was still in the dark about this and that perhaps Draco should be the one to explain it to him with the Headmaster. Draco rose from his chair and stared at Dumbledore, dumbfounded, but the old man decided the take advantage of Draco's shock-related disability to string together a coherent argument.

He swiftly left his chair and ushered the stuttering blond towards the hospital wing, much to the amusement and interest of everyone they passed on the way. After some skilful bartering by Dumbledore for visiting permission from the formidable Madam Pomfrey, Draco finally came to his senses only to find himself being led into a side room with only one occupant. The occupant was the one person whom Draco had been longing to talk to, but now would rather see anyone else…even Ron Weasley!

Harry sat up slightly in his bed, self-consciously pulling his covers higher up his chest. He looked much better, Draco observed. Still weak, with dark shadows under his entrancing eyes, but better all the same. Draco lowered himself into the chair Dumbledore conjured for him and waited to see how Harry was going to respond.

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A/N—Thanks for reading! Please hit the shiny review button and let me know your thoughts. If this fic is a while between updates, it's because I am getting ready to go to a Boarding College (very Hogwarts, huh?) and my writing time will be cut down, especially once I get there. This fic won't be abandoned.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Notes Again eternal thanks to both of my betas!

This chapter is slightly shorter than the last one . I'll try to write more next time! Promise! Sorry for the long wait between chapters. Real life is a pain sometimes! Thanks for reading, please review!

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"Are you sure about this, sir," Harry asked once the Headmaster had finished explaining his theory to him, "or is this just another one of your ideas?"

His voice was cold. It was the first time he had spoken since Malfoy and Dumbledore had arrived. Throughout Dumbledore's explanation, he had surveyed the two men before him in silence, his gaze both calculating and uncomfortably penetrating.

"Just an idea, my boy, but one I am fairly certain will be proven correct." When Harry offered no comment on this statement, Dumbledore sighed heavily before continuing, "Look, Harry, I know that I made a grave mistake - one that has most dearly cost you in particular. However, my mistakes are few and far between and I would hate to think that, in my failed attempt to protect you, I have lost all the faith you once had in me."

Draco listened to this proclamation with all the interest expected of the Slytherin leader. What interested him most was not the apparent closeness between Harry and the Headmaster — he had long since known and resented that. Neither was it the fact that Dumbledore had apparently wronged Harry. No, what surprised Draco the most was that Harry's reactions to everything and his cold, calculating manner, were at complete odds with the Gryffindor pin-up boy idea he had of the raven-haired man in the bed beside him.

Deciding that he could always question Potter about it later, Draco refocused on the issue at hand. "Professor, I'm still unclear as to why you think that Potter and I are Elemental Healers — surely anyone with the knowledge that I possess of certain spells could have healed him. You said that there was a way to prove this theory wrong?"

The Headmaster smiled slightly before helping himself to a packet of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans from Harry's usual collection of "get well soon" gifts — both from his friends and his numerous female admirers (the presence of whom he was, of course, oblivious to).

"Perceptive as ever, my boy. Yes, there is a simple way to prove or disprove my theory — though I doubt either of you will be ecstatic about it…hmmm."

He paused to select himself a bean and slipped it into his mouth before cringing melodramatically and muttering something that sounded like "grass". Draco raised an eyebrow at the behaviour, but Harry merely rolled his eyes and prompted the old man.

"You were saying, sir?"

"I was? Oh, yes…Well you see, boys, the way in which the event occurred wasn't like your average healing. You felt the magic cast in your vision, Harry. You had never experienced that before and I think that saying it was caused by Mister Malfoy being there is a safe assumption to make. Mister Malfoy's healing came almost subconsciously — he didn't even have to analyse which spells to use. Again, I think that was because of _your_ presence, Harry; it was as though, even in your unconscious state, you were doing your job as the Elemental Healer duo and sensing your own ailments for Mister Malfoy. This is the only explanation I can see for these circumstances."

Both boys remained sceptical, but each thought about the Headmaster's words with a slight, niggling doubt at their own disbelief.

"Then of course, there is the very nature of the situation itself. Mister Malfoy, I believe you were angry with Harry when you went looking for him. Why then would you, his schoolyard nemesis and son of a Death Eater — now don't interrupt, I am speaking frankly, I know — but why would you stop and heal him?"

The question hung heavy in the air. Even Harry's calm and pensive expression flickered with questions as he turned to regard Draco. The Slytherin looked down, as though fascinated with the floor tiles. _That's what stings, what feeds my doubts,_ he thought sullenly. _I could argue with him, say it was human instinct…or even a regrettable error on my part. It could well have been a mistake; Merlin knows that my father will think so. But instinct? Certainly not like any normal instinct I have had before…_

"You see what I mean, Draco?" The use of his given name wasn't missed_. He tries to comfort me!_ Even in his head his voice sounded incredulous. _What fucking comfort can there be for going against my father, my upbringing? I may wish to remain unmarked. I may loath Voldemort. I'd even go as far to say that I wish that Father wasn't involved. But those are just thoughts and they can't cause any damage…actions are a little more real, more dangerous._

"Don't trouble yourself, my boy. If my theory is right, then you will have felt a natural desire to help Harry — like an instinct embedded within you so deeply, that you couldn't fight it should you try to. As for you, Harry, how did you feel when you awoke to find yourself in Draco's arms?"

A light blush crept over Harry's face and he seemed to be concentrating very hard on _not_ looking at Draco. _Now _that's_ interesting,_ was the thought flashing across Draco's mind, amusing and distracting him from his previous self-inquisition.

"Comforted? Relieved? Safe? Oh, don't feel embarrassed!" the old man chuckled. "Neither of you could have helped these things and that is precisely my point. Elemental Healers are not just two random people working together. They are anam cara, soul friends, naturally bonded to the very core. Your bond is dormant — as are all natural bonds to begin with. You acted as you did because one of you was in danger; your bond was forced to stir in order to ensure your, and consequently its, survival.

"All you need to do is activate this bond and you can start to train as Elemental Healers. Once you do this, though, there is no going back. You have a choice now. If you choose to ignore this bond, chances are you can live perfectly normal lives. You probably won't even be aware of the bond unless one of you is in grave danger. Just like say, a Metamorphagus doesn't have to morph. But once they do, it can happen involuntarily if they are endangered. If you activate your bond, the extent to and way in which it will affect you is both unknown and irreversible."

A tense silence fell — what was one supposed to say in response to something like that? A thousand questions buzzed around Draco's head but it was as though he had lost all ability to voice them. Harry wasn't faring much better as he opened and closed his mouth several times before collapsing back against his pillows.

Dumbledore rose with a grace that defied his age. "I will leave you boys alone to talk for a while, and then I recommend Harry rests a while longer. Madam Pomfrey thinks you will be fit for classes tomorrow, providing you stop your 'I'm fine' proclamations and take your medicine. The three of us will discuss this subject tomorrow evening at six o'clock in my office. Harry, thank you for the beans — though, I must admit that I find myself preferring Mars Bars these days."

The Headmaster turned and wandered from the room, leaving a rather speechless Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy about to attempt their first civilised conversation to date.

"Mars Bars?" Draco's curiosity broke the ice with an incredulous tone. "What the fuck is a Mars Bar?"

"For a spoiled, pure-blooded aristocrat, you are seriously deprived! Even I have had a Mars Bar before. They're a type of Muggle candy."

"Deprived? Moi? Why in sweet Salazar's name would I eat Muggle confectionary? And, on that note, what did you mean 'even you' have had one? Weren't you brought up by Muggles?"

Harry nodded once before turning away. _Hmm…a sore spot, huh? I never knew he had family trouble._ Where Draco would once have been elated to have new ammunition with which to tease Harry, he now found himself generally interested. It was like getting to know a completely different person from the Potter he knew before.

Just as Draco was struggling to change the conversation topic, Harry exhaled heavily before turning back to his visitor and speaking again. "I'm glad you came. I've kinda been wanting to talk to you — well, more to thank you really."

Draco flushed; he couldn't help himself. There was something about the sheer intensity of Harry's eyes that was both mesmerising and intoxicating. Harry wasn't speaking to his face. He was almost looking into Draco's soul and he was doing so without realising it.

"I mean, I know we don't see eye to eye on politics and we have spent the last four years practically hating each other and well…" He faltered slightly as though forgetting his point. "You just didn't have to, that's all and I appreciate that you did."

Although the blond merely shrugged off the gratitude, inside he was on fire_. I should apologise, not him!_ his annoying conscience piped up. _I've been such a bastard to him and his friends but…well, he's not anything like the git I __thought he was._

Draco realised that he must have been staring when Harry laughed softly.

"What? Not 'The Boy Who Lived' enough for you? Would you rather I said 'It's a good job you saved me because I couldn't do it with the hassle, to be honest. It's not like I was in danger but you sped things up and now I won't fall behind in my schedule of dates, photo-shoots and bad-guy slaying'?"

Draco smirked. Harry's grin was infectious and he had just summed up precisely what Draco had expected him to say. It should have been unnerving that Potter had a better understanding of Draco than Draco did him — but instead, Draco merely found it funny that his pompous self had made more of an imprint on Harry than he realised.

"No…it's just that…" _Oh really coherent Draco_, he chided himself in a voice that always seemed to resemble that of his Father. _Such scintillating conversation skills and lying abilities you are showing._

"You're just not the person I thought you were."

Harry flashed Draco a disarming smile. "You're exactly who I thought you were, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. You've finally got over yourself a bit since first year, and you aren't half as snarky as you'd like to think."

The fact that Harry Potter, of all people, had noticed what even his fellow Slytherins had not, allowed Draco to leave the hospital wing — on Madam Pomfrey's insistence —happier than he had been in a while. As he swept towards the door, he heard the Medi-Witch fussing.

"Come on now, Mr. Potter, take these please. Stop right there with that 'I'm fine' nonsense. If I remember rightly you were fine after having your arm bitten by a Basilisk."

"But I was, Fawkes heal —"

At this point Harry was cut off as the formidable woman appeared to force feed Harry the potions.

That scene had Draco inwardly chuckling all the way down to the dungeons. Of course, he wouldn't laugh out loud. He may be a Malfoy having some kind of mid-teen sexuality crisis; a Malfoy with some apparent bond to Harry Potter 'The Boy Who Lived to be Saviour of the Fucking Wizarding World'; but he was a Malfoy nonetheless, and to do such a thing as laugh out loud would be most unseemly.

It wasn't until he glided towards his chair in the common room — its third year occupant had hastily vacated it upon the sixth year's arrival — Draco realised that neither he nor Potter had brought up the subject of the bond.

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Snape hated Mondays. He loathed them with the intensity of a thousand suns, detested them more than words could eloquently express. He had to teach the sixth year Slytherin-Gryffindor Potions class every Monday morning and the argumentative, incompetent brats were enough to make even a stable person's blood boil.

It was for this reason he billowed into the chatter-filled room in a manner strongly resembling a hurricane. Before reaching his desk, various Gryffindors had already lost their house 17 points for heinous crimes against Snape's headache, such as giggling. Death glare firmly in place, he waved his wand and the instructions appeared on the board. Students stumbled into action and he fell back onto his chair and sat, hawk-eyed and massaging his temples.

It wasn't long before he realised that a certain godson of his, a Mr. Draco Malfoy to be specific, had not even risen from his seat to collect his ingredients. Instead the blond sat brooding, his eyes practically burning a hole into an empty chair on the opposite side of the classroom. An empty chair usually occupied by that annoying Gryffindor brat, that swaggering, bespectacled excuse for a world saviour.

Severus did a double take before sneering in disgust and taking a large gulp from an anti-daydreaming draft. He closed his eyes tightly as the cool liquid caused waves of icy reality to course through his body. When he finally opened them, Draco had not moved a muscle. Why, in sweet Morrigan's name, that accursed child was staring at Potter's chair was completely beyond the Potions Master. He didn't even know where Potter was, come to think of it. Something was sorely wrong and Severus didn't like it at all.

He lifted himself from his chair, vanished into the store room and returned some minutes later, pointedly plonking the needed ingredients into Draco's lap. The boy blinked dazedly and began to follow the instructions on the board mechanically, his eyes flickering over Potter's chair at regular intervals.

To add to Snape's bad mood, the Gryffindors were spending much longer than necessary selecting their bicorn horns. They were not usually so attentive or so quiet. Snape was puzzled. He could swear he could see their lips moving, but it was almost as if…

"50 points from Gryffindor for casting a Silencing Charm in my class!" Snape all but roared as he shattered the spell with a slashing arm movement. "Would you care to tell me just what was so important that you couldn't wait until the end of class to discuss it?"

The offending students hung their heads in silent solidarity. Snape was visibly restraining himself from committing mass-murder when through the door walked a still-pale Harry Potter.

"Harry!" Hermione cried, rushing over and trapping him in a hug. "We were so worried when you didn't arrive for this lesson!"

Harry hushed her with a kiss on the forehead. "I'm fine; you know how fussy Madam Pomfrey can be."

It looked like Hermione had something else to say but her boyfriend pulled her back to their seats, rolling his eyes at Harry in the best friend's usual 'Only Hermione' way.

Snape was gazing heavenward, his lips forming the numbers one through ten. He reached ten and felt no calmer and so, instead, he exploded. The Slytherins rolled around with laughter as Snape chastised all the Gryffindors, cursed their ancestors and saying point blank that he would make school-life a living hell for any of their future offspring.

The only Slytherin who didn't look amused was Draco. He seemed to be trying to catch Harry's eye and upon finally succeeding, he mouthed the words "You okay?"

Snape paused mid-rant to take another swig from his anti-daydreaming draft. Harry nodded but at Draco's sceptically raised eyebrow, the raven haired boy shrugged and responded instead, "I'll live."

Draco nodded once before saying, "Don't forget about tonight," and returning to his potion. At this point, Snape downed the entire contents of the potion flask and yelled at the Gryffindors a lot more.

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Hermione didn't get Outstanding in all of her classes — of which she was taking twice as many as the average student — without good reason. She knew that Dumbledore hadn't told them everything that night when they had found Harry cradled in Draco's arms, having just been saved from death…again. She had kept the Marauder's Map after finding Harry and she had been consulting it regularly over the weekend. She had seen Draco and the Headmaster having a talk inside Dumbledore's office. She also knew that, after this, the two men had gone up to the hospital wing and had sat at Harry's bedside.

When Dumbledore had left the two teenagers alone, Hermione's eyebrows receded into her bushy fringe due to a shock that had only increased when the two boys didn't appear to fight. To make matters worse, Dumbledore could be found in his office at most other times of the weekend, pacing back and forth in a manner that could only signal deep contemplation.

As soon as lessons finished for the morning, Hermione ran to the Great Hall and grabbed a sandwich before excusing herself and heading towards the library. When in doubt, check a book (the older and dustier, the better). According to Ron, this was Hermione's motto and, for once, he wasn't far from the truth.

Hermione darted between bookshelves, gathering together all available books on magical links to investigate Harry's link to Voldemort for the umpteenth time, as well as books on healing to try to find out how Draco had managed to save Harry.

Settling in her seat in a deserted corner of the room, she expertly cast a single magic circle around herself. From experience, Hermione had found that for her, the amount of time spent in ritual circles was always thrice the real time that had passed. So, although she would never cast a circle three times round except for rituals, a single circle would give her an extra hour and a half to read. She looked sceptically at the pile of books. Three hours wasn't going to be enough, but it would have to do.

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As soon as the vast majority of the students were seated for dinner, Severus Snape whirled up to the Headmaster's office. He didn't know the password, but one well-aimed look at the gargoyle was enough to make it gulp in submission and hastily reveal the doorway. He stomped up the stairs like a teenager in a strop, hurled the door open and stood there breathing heavily and looking almost demonic.

Albus Dumbledore was standing at his desk, pouring two cups of tea. "Ah Severus, my boy! I thought I'd be seeing you today. You look, uh, somewhat vexed?"

Severus stalked into the room, slamming the door behind him. "Vexed? VEXED? Is that all you can say, you doddering old git? What have you done to my godson? What's up with fucking Potter now? What are you up to? Oh, don't give me that innocent look Albus; you and I both know that something is going on. I might not be able to place it, but you have twice the IQ of everyone else in this castle accumulated, so I'm sure you've worked it out. That is to say, if you aren't the sole cause of it, which I find highly unlikely."

The tall man seemed to run out of steam. He collapsed into the chair Dumbledore was gesturing to and accepted his cup of tea. For Severus, this was all time low. The fact that he had conceded defeat before hurling several of the old man's possessions was unheard of and, by sitting down, that was exactly what he had done.

Dumbledore perched on his own chair, smiling serenely in a way that he must have _known _would irritate Snape more. It felt to Snape like he was doing this all deliberately, just to test how stressed the Potion master was. Snape was _not_ paranoid. Everyone really _was_ out to break his defences; or at least that's how he perceived it.

"Tell me, my boy," Dumbledore began, "what do you know of Percuro Adfinis Rerum Natura?"

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Hermione had been reading for almost two hours. She had given up on the Healing texts for the time being as most of them were written in a very scientific manner, and were in Latin to boot. Her translation skills were unmatched by anyone in her year, but her knowledge of post-NEWT level Medi-science was, well, limited.

She was now engrossed in one of the books featuring information on bonds — but she had long since been distracted from the topic of Harry's scar. 'Percuro Adfinis Rerum Natura,' the book read, 'are ancient forms of magical being. Although not magical creatures, these beings are not Witches or Wizards, or even human. They are an ancient race; each duo a pair of soul mates."

Hermione was enthralled. The idea seemed so romantic to her, and she was inwardly amazed that she had never heard of them. She continued to read, entranced.

'In the past millennia, there have been only a handful of cases of Elemental Healers. These Healers are not even true Percuro Adfinis Rerum Natura; they are merely Witches or Wizards who were born with the skill. They are, however, all that remains of this race and are still forces to be reckoned with. Phenomenally powerful warriors and healers, one of these beings can sense magic, the other channel this sight.'

It was lucky that her magic circle could sense Hermione's distraction, or the young woman would have never made it to her classes that afternoon. She hurried over to Madam Pince's desk and checked out the book. It weighed heavily on her mind all afternoon and, perhaps for the first time in her life, she couldn't wait for classes to be over.

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The iridescent glow above the chair at the front of the room was that of Professor Binns. His monotonous drone was occasionally interrupted by a particularly loud snore but the ghost didn't appear to notice. Sitting at the back of the class, Harry's mind was slowly turning to the topic of the bond. He hadn't dwelt on it before; he had had too much doubt for that. But now that he found himself staring at a certain blond boy, he realised that something really was going on.

Did he fancy Draco? Well yes, if he was honest. What wasn't there to like? Silken blond locks hanging styled just past shoulder length, icy-grey eyes, an elfin physique — lithe and willowy. If it wasn't for the fact that Draco Malfoy was indeed Draco Malfoy, Harry would have been attracted to him for a very long time.

So was this attraction the reason Harry was always aware of the Slytherin? He didn't think so. It was more of a natural pull toward the boy. He couldn't describe how this was different from attraction, it just was. Could he imagine himself and Malfoy as soul mates and Elemental Healers? _No_, came his original conclusion but when the realisation struck him that he was now staring into stormy eyes rather than at a turned head, Harry felt that pull inside of him and all of a sudden, he wasn't so sure.

Snapped into reality by the scraping of chairs that signalled the lesson's end — and by the tugging on his sleeve by Hermione — Harry stood up shakily. Hermione began chatting to him happily. She was ignoring Ron who had obviously fallen asleep again, much to his girlfriend's distaste.

Harry wasn't listening; he simply nodded and shook his head at random moments, hoping to cast an illusion of attentiveness. He was no longer looking at Draco, but he was somehow aware of him leaving the room. A confused rush of emotions and adrenaline swept through Harry. He became light-headed and yet, at the same time, it felt like his head had been caught in a vice. He felt Pansy Parkinson's hand sweep the hair from his eyes in a concerned manner, but Pansy wasn't even in the room. Thoughts and images wandered into his mind but they were not his own. He could feel Draco's emotional state parallel his and this only magnified his own feelings.

The room had emptied; Professor Binns had glided from the room and Hermione had abandoned her chat with Harry to go and bicker with Ron. Harry was alone, yet he felt surrounded.

He sank to his knees holding the side of his desk, white-knuckled and shaking. Suddenly, like a kick in the mind, Draco stumbled into the room, magically locking the door behind him. Harry felt the magic pulsate from Draco and surround the door in a tingling grip. He swayed, almost passing out. Draco hurried forward, lifting Harry to his feet by the front of his robes and slamming him backward against the desk.

Everything became clear to both boys. An impulse swept over them and suddenly Draco's porcelain face lowered over Harry's. Soft breath brought a shudder to Harry's body, petal-soft lips invoked a gasp; a tongue urged forward by something so strong that Draco couldn't resist it caused a blush. With but a moment's hesitation to savour the touch, Harry responded hungrily, desperately, urgently. A frantic dance of tongues, of tastes and of touches and the world was lost in a cloud of golden light.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Notes:

Wow! I guess this must be a record time between posts! Hopefully you'll all forgive me. I've arranged with my beta, Alexa Black, a way to try and churn out chapters more regularly now for both this story and When in Rome.

Please accept my apologies. I have had quite a tedious year filled with bereavement, exams and a very heavy workload-- not a great combination!

Here's wishing you all a happy 2008. If you want to join my mailing list for update information, email a request to jessica(dot)cresswell(at)googlemail(dot)com

Chapter 3

Harry felt different. It was as though he was in an entirely new body. He felt light and fluid, like he was both within the confines of his body and yet free of it completely. His gaze was filled with a golden light so pure, so perfect, and unlike anything he had felt before. Yes, it wasn't like seeing anymore, he concluded. He could _feel_ the haze of light. He was part of it. Not all of it though. The other part of the light came from somewhere else. From Harry's opposite. From Draco.

Harry floated through the iridescent fog, searching for the source of his completion. He was timeless. It felt like he'd been looking for hours yet, somewhere within himself — the part still connected to his physical presence — he was vaguely aware of feeling his body leaning forwards slightly. His breath caught in his mouth and the golden cloud infused with energy and emotion as soft lips met his own. A kiss that lasted a few seconds ignited a binding that had been in existence since the dawning of time. Two souls fused and the cloud ebbed in a flash of power.

Harry could see a beautiful creature before him; a face carved from silver and sunlight. The creature smiled softly at him and Harry heard its musical voice inside his head. "Natura Mundi Penitus Sanare." The light flowed back as naturally as the tide and as forceful as a tidal wave. Harry slipped from consciousness, or whatever masquerade of consciousness he had been experiencing. And, as he did, he was internally aware of the same thing happening to Draco.

ssssssssssss

Ron and Hermione had made their way down two flights of stairs before they realised that Harry was nowhere in sight. They turned to walk back up the stairs, but it was like trying to climb in the opposite direction of a stampede. Impossible. Conceding defeat, they stood at the bottom the staircase to wait for Harry. He never came.

Five minutes went by, then five more. That was when they had felt it. A ripple of energy so potent swept the pair clear off their feet as they were standing so close to its source.

A pulsation of magic exploded across Hogwarts. Everyday spells that were being cast quadrupled in their efficiency and potions burnt through their confining cauldrons. Ghosts found their bodies momentarily distorted into wisps of unidentifiable structure. A young Ravenclaw who was having his broken arm healed in the infirmary suddenly found himself with two extra arms. Pandemonium broke loose.

Over the raucous noise of excited squeals and terrified yelps from the third year Charms class just down the corridor, Hermione somehow managed to get Ron's attention.

"Harry!" she yelled, frantically starting towards the History of Magic room and the source of this magical surge.

Her mind was racing; how could it not be after what she'd spent her lunchtime reading? Magical surges were only caused by phenomenally powerful magical beings under exceptional circumstances, such as the completion of a bond. Logic was forgotten for the first time in the young woman's life and she began to wonder who Harry was with and what bond they shared. She knew her theory was insane; she knew that even if she was correct, Harry might not have been involved, but as she ran pell-mell towards the room, hastily dodging a floating suit of armour and with a bewildered Ron in tow, it was the only solution that she could think of.

Her running came to an abrupt halt. Standing by the door to the classroom was an elated Dumbledore, his eyes glistening and his hands clasped together in apparent delight. A tapestry opposite the doorway had been pushed aside to reveal a passageway, through which stumbled a very out of breath Severus Snape.

"Rushing off like a mad man…How many stairs?!...Twice my age and yet, double the energy….Bloody Headmaster trying to kill me…" Snape's laboured breathing and dark muttering ceased when he saw Hermione and Ron standing a few feet away. He glared at them sullenly before pulling himself up to his full height and walking over to Dumbledore.

"What did I tell you, my boy? I _knew _it!" Dumbledore's voice was awestruck and his eyes never left the door window.

"Then why did the idiot boys activate it before they knew all the details, Albus? Surely Draco isn't as stupid as Potter. He'd never agree to something like this if he'd known the consequences."

"I don't think either boy had much of a say in the matter," replied the old man, giving the Potions Master a conspiratorial glance before nodding towards Ron and Hermione and beckoning them closer. Both Gryffindors craned their necks to see into the classroom but Dumbledore blocked it from view.

"I know that you are concerned about Mr. Potter. I will be escorting both him and his companion to an isolated room where Madam Pomfrey can carry out some tests. You needn't worry about him; he isn't injured. He merely lost control of his magic. He will need bed rest to recuperate but that should be all."

"Companion?" Hermione enquired, her voice laced with an interest that the Headmaster didn't fail to notice.

"Astute as always, Miss. Granger. But please keep your suspicions to yourself until we can confirm their nature."

Hermione nodded and turned to a confused Ron. "Let's go. Harry's in safe hands."

Ron's face momentarily flickered with doubt before Hermione quickly stood on tiptoe, placing a chaste kiss on his lips before leading him away, glassy eyed and unquestioning. At top of the stairs, Hermione shot a look over her shoulder to see the two teachers engaged in urgent conversation. Snape looked more vexed by the second and Dumbledore more jubilant, something which dissolved Hermione's worries for now. Anything that could make Snape look so angry and Dumbledore so pleased _had _to be a good thing.

ssssssssssssssss

The Hogwarts rumour mill was working overtime. The surge of magic had led to widespread panic once the hilarity of the situations the students had found themselves in had worn off. They all waited anxiously for an announcement from Dumbledore at their meal that evening to reassure them, but none was given.

The actions of the students couldn't have been more predictable: the Hufflepuffs panicked and made sure that their entire house was well and accounted for; the Ravenclaws researched; the Slytherins pondered the possible darker cause of the surge; and the Gryffindors ignored it as they knew nothing could be done about it. That characteristic of Gryffindors had always been lost on Harry. He never took things at face value. He followed his gut instinct at all times. Gryffindors were brave, sure enough, but they were a dependable sort of spontaneous brave, not a calculating, plotting, loose-canon brave.

Harry always supposed that it was his hidden Slytherin attributes that the Sorting Hat had seen within him, making him a free-radical of sorts, enigmatic and with characteristics at a complete, stark juxtaposition to others. In one moment, he could be both selfish and selfless. It was what made him dangerous because quite honestly, not even he knew how he was going to respond from one moment to the next.

Of course, none of his fellow students saw this. Everyone was so sure they knew him, so certain of his motives that they never questioned him when he turned full circle and did something sly or manipulative. They were so preoccupied with this persona of Gryffindor goodness that they had built up around him. This image worked for Harry because it gave him the element of surprise, the upper hand at all times.

That's why when he found himself in an unfamiliar room with a splitting headache and the sensations of _everything_ flowing through him, around him, part of him, he felt doubly out of control. He strained to remember something to indicate where he was, but all he could think of was a haze of emotion, colour and intensity. The room was pitch black. Straining his eyes, Harry could see a sprinkle of colour opposite him. Focusing on it, he found that he could feel it — a faint tingling of calm rest as someone slept deeply. Ignoring this, Harry tried to work out where the rest of the sensations he felt were coming from. Some were his own emotions, he decided, and others were traces of magic and emotion left like wisps in the air. But that wasn't all.

He could feel the emotions of another, not his sleeping companion across the room. These mystery emotions were more clear-cut and strong. He turned to the other side of the room and saw a wash of colour. Metallic hues of concern and disorientation left an astringent taste in the back of Harry's mouth but he knew these were not his own feelings.

Seeing clearly was difficult. It was as though Harry had to combine his vision with his feelings to get a clear picture, like his body no longer trusted his eyes. After a few moments of practice, Harry could make out a figure. He couldn't see the person himself — that would have been impossible in such darkness. Rather, he pinned the emotions to their source and saw a silhouette of the person. Colours flared and faded as the person's thoughts changed but the overall aura of the person was a pearly, iridescent silver.

Stumbling towards the shape, Harry was aware of it looking towards him. He wondered if it could see him too or whether it could only hear him. A sharp pain induced a spark of red light and a curse from Harry as his knees collided with the side of something on which the figure was seated. A grumbling came from the person across the room. The figure turned towards Harry, directly this time, as the other person lit the magical lights with an incantation. Blinking and swaying slightly as he adjusted both to having normal vision as well as this new vision — and the tingle of the magical lights — Harry recognised the figure in front of him and remembered what had happened.

All in all, it was an overwhelming sequence of realisations and sensations to adapt to in such a short time period. Harry's head gave an almighty stab of pain and he keeled over onto Draco's bed, welcoming the peaceful abyss of unconsciousness once more.

Draco winced and shook himself fully awake. He never had been able to sleep when someone was watching him — but whatever Harry had been doing, it hadn't been normal watching. Flashes of Harry's sight had forced their way into the forefront of Draco's mind. Taking note of his surroundings, he relaxed slightly upon noticing Snape. The disgruntled looking man muttered under his breath bitterly as he rose, stretched and crossed the room.

"Professor?"

"It would seem that passing out is becoming a bit of a habit for him," the dark man snarked dryly. "At least now that you've finally deigned to join us, you can help him."

Draco looked confused. Snape hated that. If people could only understand things, his teaching life may have been bearable. Maybe. He sighed and resigned himself to yet another tedious explanation.

"I presume that you've heard of the Elemental Healers…."

sssssssssss

"So, let me just set this straight…I'm just supposed to _think_ him awake?"

"To put an extremely complex process into layman's terms — however much I may despise doing so ­— yes. He is you, you are him. You cannot control each other's bodies but you, as the Healer, have the ability to Heal your beloved with as little effort as 'thinking him awake'."

"Beloved?! He's Potter! I don't love him!"

Severus smiled slightly at Draco's typical objection. The boy was an Elemental. He had just found his Soul Mate. He still couldn't get over the fact that it was _Potter_.

"I don't mean love in an allusion to a romantic attachment between the two of you — that may or may not occur. I refer to love in the sense that you are one. I can't begin to comprehend the attachment you two will share, but the fact of the matter is that you are bonded together through pure love. So yes, Mr. Malfoy, the traditional name for those bonded elementally is 'beloved'."

Draco looked down at Harry bemusedly. He couldn't feel him as he did earlier. When they'd kissed — he cringed at the memory — he had felt a whole new world of sensations; it was clichéd to even think it, but Draco's world _had_ been _moved. _

However, the fact remained that the figure laying unconscious before him was the same boy he had resented for so long. The boy who had turned down his friendship; the boy who always came out one better than Draco, no matter the situation. The Boy Who Lived. Conflicting images flashed through Draco's mind — Harry raising the Quidditch Cup, a smug grin reserved for Draco; Harry sitting alone in the library, unaware of Draco's watching gaze, and crying silently over what appeared to be a photo album. There was a rational portion of Draco's mind that realised that he didn't know Harry at all — the vision he had witnessed proved that. But did he want to know him? As his beloved, did he even have that choice?

Severus watched the blond in silence. He could see the boy trying to come to terms with his new situation. He watched him debate whether or not it was possible that Harry wasn't just the Wonder Boy everyone, Severus himself included, took him for.

"He isn't just the Boy Who Lived, Draco. That is but the side of him we have been forced to suffer through. Without him, you are nothing. You have no choice but to try."

Confused grey eyes finally looked up from Harry. Snape was being rational, calm and not paranoid about the situation. His eyes narrowed. "Why are you here with us, sir? Why not Dumbledore or Potter's Head of House?"

"There are many types of bonds, Draco, not just Elemental. I myself have been subject to one. As the only member of staff here who has, and as your Head of House, I am merely the best choice to help you adjust."

Snape's expression became closed and Draco knew from experience that that meant that the conversation was firmly over. He vaguely wondered about Snape's bond, but cast his speculating aside.

With a resigned air, he squatted down fluidly. Biting his bottom lip in concentration (a very un-Malfoy-esque trait, which had been the bane of his father's annoyance for many years), he brushed his hand softly against Harry's brow. It felt like clicking the pieces of a puzzle back into position, then easing the gaps between the pieces until a flawless image remained.

Harry drew in a ragged breath and eased back into consciousness. His eyes opened and he met Draco's gaze uncertainly. Draco found himself half-thinking that Harry's eye colour reflected his very personality. Green — youthful and tender and yet jaded somehow though a lack of childhood innocence, innocence that had been torn from him. Draco almost felt defensively protective of those eyes. They shouldn't hold so much hurt. But then he tried to extend such a notion to Harry in his entirety, and he stumbled. Harry was the Boy Who Lived. He didn't need defending no matter what ridiculous connotations Draco and his love of words had given to his eyes.

Harry, meanwhile, was looking at Draco in a similarly analytical manner. His gaze was fixated on the boy's lips. He watched as sharp, perfectly white teeth bit down onto his bottom lip. He could see the rose pink of the lips with his normal vision, but the new layered vision he had gained made the lips change to a slow purple-red smudge against a perfect silver aura.

Snape cleared his throat in the background. Harry felt the intention behind it was to bring the boys back to there senses. He realised they'd been staring and blushed slightly. But the smudge was annoying him. Tentatively, he reached his hand up to Draco's mouth and eased the lip from between the teeth. "Don't," he said softly, "it'll bruise."

Now it was Draco's turn to blush. He stumbled backwards and landed without dignity on his arse. He snapped his gaze onto Snape, who was chuckling slightly. Snape levitated an unresisting Harry back onto his bed before pointedly glaring at Draco, who hurried to return to his own bed.

"Try to get some sleep. I've set an alarm to alert me should you have need of me. In the meantime, I must leave for breakfast. The school is not to become aware of my disappearance. Your own disappearances will be dealt with by the Headmaster." With that, Severus swept from the room.

_Breakfast? _Draco wondered how long they'd been unconscious. Harry wondered how anyone could possibly tell the time in the dungeons without the dawn light glaring through a window. Draco caught Harry's train of thought and sniggered with a role of his eyes. _What a Gryffindor._

"Am not!"

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Well I am, but only through choice."

Draco raised both eyebrows as he caught a flash of disjointed memory coming from the raven-haired boy.

"I haven't a clue what is going on in our heads, but it certainly makes arguing easier if it means I only have to think the truth." Harry sat up and stretched. "Care to explain what's going on?"

"Not particularly, beloved," Draco spat, suddenly riled by the idea of Harry being a Slytherin.

"Beloved?!" Harry was completely confused now and he knew that Draco was not intending to help. He sighed heavily and tried to sleep.

He knew Draco wasn't asleep, but the boy was certainly pretending to be. Harry felt suffocated. He was out of his depth and needed to be alone. So why did the prospect of leaving the silvery ghost, whose purple smudge had faded since his intervention, trouble him so much? As Draco had related to Harry's eyes, Harry related to Draco's aura in a way that was still impossible to apply to the person. _Beloved?_ Harry asked again, only to himself this time. He looked at Draco's still form and focused on his new vision. _Beloved?_ Surveying the silvery glow, he couldn't help but wonder.


End file.
